


Medicine

by Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fourth Age, M/M, Porn with Feelings, mentions of angbang and silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 18:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion/pseuds/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion
Summary: Mairon is a poor broken thing. Eönwë is the poor broken thing's lover.





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chokingonwhys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chokingonwhys/gifts).



As usual, Mairon’s walking down the street, calm and peaceful and modestly dressed. He finds some odd enjoyment in that, being so humble and demure after his back-breaking career as a terrifying dark lord. These days, he is just a regular little Maia, a little tired, walking to the market to get his groceries. After he is done, it’ll be time to go home, to his tiny little house at the end of a cold garden, and there, he’ll sort his modest purchases and think of what to prepare for dinner. 

He sighs.

Someone greets him at the entrance again. It always baffles him; perhaps people do not recognize him in this new form. He smiles back, a little shyly, yet hurries to leave the person behind, lest they find out who he really is. It is dark inside the spice shop, dark and cool, and it smells like cinnamon and ground nutmeg. Mairon inhales the scent - he only needs some cloves, that would be it.

The Elleth behind the stand is round-faced and smiling with kindness he does not deserve. “What can I get for you today?” She asks politely in a carefree voice of a being that has not known the horrors of war.

Mairon takes no time to think.

“Revenge,” he growls lowly in response, surprising even himself, and his hand outstretches as if by itself, clawy fingers reaching for that plump face, hate and rage steaming out of his nostrils. The wooden stand gives up first, putting no resistance to his flame; it catches fire, and with it burn the spices, their thick scent filling the room along with the screams. It is hot, and beads of sweat are rolling down the back of his neck. 

He cools down in an instant as he realizes what he’s done.

This was his last chance to change, to be good, and here is what he’s done with it. The Vanyar were right about him: he is corrupt, defiled, and there is no reasonable prospect of that reversing. He weeps now, shaking as he kneels in the ashes, waiting for the Valar’s wrath to descend upon him. He cries so hard it seems he’ll turn himself inside out, and here are the footsteps, the sound of his doom approaching, and a heavy hand is laid on his shoulder as his chest is heaving in pain and terror.

“Mai?”

Mairon gasps, and his poor eyes open wide - to bright light and the calm softness of his bed. Eönwë’s beautiful face is above him, a tender, worried gaze fixed on Mairon. “Just a dream, darling,” he whispers.

Mairon sighs with relief and lays back, eyes closed. He is happy he did not kill any Elves. “Why do I keep seeing those?” He whispers, voice still hoarse from crying. “I wish they would stop…”

In a second, he is wrapped into an embrace, a surprisingly gentle one from such a strong partner. Eönwë has always been strong, stronger than he, but with this new form that Valar meant for keeping him in check, he feels featherlight as he is pulled to his lover’s chest. It is not entirely a bad feeling.

“Sunlight...” He murmurs, grateful for the touch. Mairon knows not why Eönwë is with him, why Eönwë took him back after the ages of them staying apart, after Melkor and Tyelpë and a hundred bloody wars against everything Eönwë stood for. He almost wants to apologize to this kind being, beg forgiveness for daring to touch something so bright, so unmistakably pure with his dirty paws.

“My dear Mai,” Eönwë whispers with such care, such gentleness Mairon is even more ashamed now - for thinking so poorly of himself when Eönwë loves him so much, for insulting something Eönwë  loves. It is a circle of self-degradation he cannot break, not by himself. “What are you thinking about?”

“How much I hate myself.” Mairon does not have any strength for pretending these days, which made him more honest than he has ever been before.

“What is it you hate?” Eönwë asks patiently. Eru bless his sweet mind.

“I hate being in this bed, needing sleep like a lesser being,” he starts, and Eönwë responds by kissing his brow, his lips dry and soft against Mairon’s heated skin.

“Did you think Tyelperinquar a lesser being when he was curled up next to you, sleeping as you held him, warm and comfortable?” Eönwë suggests gently, nuzzling into his lover’s pale locks. “That is how I feel.”

Mairon sighs. “I hate myself for what I did to Tyelperinquar. And I hate how much worse I became after his death, as if he was some mechanism that kept me in check. I hate to think that I loved him, and I hate to think that I did not.”

“You do struggle with your definitions of love, that I’ve noticed,” Eönwë smiles, his blue eyes shining brighter for a moment, as it always happens when he is amused.

“I hate how it was between you and I… how I made it so.” Mairon turned away, still at a loss about how to speak about the pain he’s given to Eönwë.

Eönwë’s smile fades. “Mai…”

“No, don’t speak,” Mairon shakes his head. “You are good, pure. You will say something about how Melkor mislead me, and how poor me got dragged into his crimes, and how it’s not my fault. But the truth is that it  _ is _ , sweetheart, it  _ is.  _ Was I mislead? Yes. But did I choose to continue being mislead? Yes. Did I knowingly refuse to stop when I was offered chances?  _ Yes _ . It cannot be undone. It’s on me, and no words can scrub me clean. And you know what the worst part is?”

“No,” Eönwë shakes his head, the locks of golden hair bouncing as he does so, his eyes already so moist Mairon hates himself for continuing.

“If I could at least feel remorse for what I’ve done,” Mairon cannot help but whisper, his throat tightening. “If only I could feel sorry, Eönwë, but I do not, I do not...”

“Yes, you are,” Eönwë refuses to believe that, tears streaming down his lovely blushed cheeks. “You are on your way there... You don’t know, Mai, but I promise, you’ll get there, I promise…”

“No.”

Eönwë sighs. “Mairon, you are asking too much of yourself. You cannot change so fast even if you want to. You should not blame yourself…”

“I should, and I will.”

“Mai.” Eönwë’s gentle lips brush tenderly against his temple. “Let’s not think of it for now. Think of what you like about being you.”

Mairon sighs. The list isn’t very long.

“My craft,” he finally decides, rubbing his temples. “But that reminds me too much of Tyelperinquar.”

Eönwë, the kind, good Eönwë does not seem jealous in any way. It’s almost disappointing.

“That, and fucking,” he smirks.

“So,  _ this  _ does not remind you of Tyelperinquar?” Eönwë arches a brow.

“I’ve done that with plenty of beings aside from him,” Mairon chuckles.

“Plenty of beings but not me,” Eönwë chides, nuzzling into Mairon’s hair once more, this time to kiss his head with those hot lips. A hint of possessiveness in his embrace makes Mairon’s blood rush.

“How does it feel, to be untouched for several ages?” The fire Maia teases, slightly breathless. His hands slide gently under Eönwë’s tunic, stroking, rubbing, yes, teasing, Eönwë’s skin pleasantly warm against his fingers.

“No idea,” Eönwë mutters hotly against his neck, seconds before his lips and teeth go exploring.

“Wait, what?” Mairon freezes for a moment, struck by the idea that Eönwë might have been with someone other than himself. He has not thought of it, he imagined Eönwë patiently waiting for his return and mourning their lost love. That was foolish and unfair - someone with such a strikingly bright personality and a nice strong body could just as well use it. “Who?”

“Didn’t care to write down the names…” Eönwë’s delightful lips travel down to his chest to press heated kisses to his skin and lick a nipple.

Mairon gasps, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Elves, then. Hope they weren’t Noldor.” That would be almost too ironic.

“I prefer Vanyar.”

“Of course you do, you boring brat,” Mairon chuckles, his worries forgotten.

“I’ll show you a boring brat,” Eönwë rises to meet his gaze, keeping it still for a moment, and finally captures Mairon’s lips into a kiss, a hot and breathless one, even more possessive than the way he is holding Mairon in his arms.

Mairon is perfectly happy with that development. He moans impatiently into Eönwë’s mouth, sucking, biting, tasting him, squirming under that strong body.

“Some things don’t change, Mai,” Eönwë murmurs against Mairon’s moist lips, his hands working to get Mairon rid of his blanket, the only piece of cloth that is covering his deliciously vulnerable body. ‘You’re still rushing it, little one.”

“You’re so much stronger than me now,” Mairon moans, arching his back to press his now naked body into his lover’s still clothed frame. He is growing hard so fast his head is dizzy.

“You like it, right?” Eönwë has to withdraw for a moment, only to remove his tunic. Fortunately, he isn’t wearing any leggings. “You could use some submission,” he smiles smugly. “It’s a bit like medicine for you.”

Mairon’s eyes narrow dangerously. Eönwë loves that, loves how golden they are, how regal, how deeply arousing they become in rage. “Goodness, I love you, how much I love you…” He whispers, and Mairon’s irritated gaze turns surprised, his eyes opening wide as Eönwë kisses him.

Mairon moans each time he exhales, moving rhythmically under Eönwë, rolling his hips at his lover’s pace. He would get even closer if it were possible, he would dissolve in the air and absorb into Eönwë’s lovely skin, become the breath he draws. He needs more friction, more, even more, and his legs split wider as if by themselves and wrap clumsily around Eönwë’s waist, needing more than one attempt to get that gorgeous banner-bearer firmly locked in place.

“Mairon…” Eönwë moans, his eyelids falling shut. Mairon kisses his face, his nose covered with tiny little stars, his trembling eyelids and his ridiculously adorable fluffy lashes and his sensual lips. He suddenly realizes why he had been feeling so out of place, if not all those ages then at least since he’s lost the last war - his true place was in Eönwë’s arms, writhing in rapture. Could he be loyal to the Valar? Most likely, not. To the Elves? Never. To Melkor and their cause? Out of the question. But he could be loyal to Eönwë and to whatever it was that they shared, and this loyalty would not tear him apart. It is natural, it’s something that’s been there at the dawn of time, before it all begun, before Melkor and before Tyelpë, when the world was still bright and beautiful.

“I love you,” he whispers, his cheeks suddenly damp - annoying, he did not intend this; the words, yes, but not the tears.

Eönwë pauses, eyes and mouth open. That came unexpected to him. “Mai… Mai, darling, you don’t have to…”

Mairon growls, equally irritated at his lover’s dumbness and the fact that he stopped. “I  _ love you _ , idiot,” he asserts. “Now move, or I swear to Eru, your king will not save you from my wrath.”

“Yes, yes, hate me, baby,” Eönwë smiles, excited, and rolls his hips again, bringing back that much desired friction.

“Oh,  _ shut up… _ ” Mairon tries to sound firm, but a moan breaks his voice as Eönwë continues giving him pleasure. “Ah,  _ ah,  _ my love, please, keep going, please, please, please…”

They manage to finish at the same time, Mairon’s new form not nearly as tough as the old one, which makes Eönwë feel a lot better about how fast he’s always been.

“Mairon…” Eönwë starts, staring into the ceiling absent-mindedly. “The thing you said…”

“I stand by it,” Mairon rises on his elbow to look the other in the eye. “I love you and I want to be with you. I’m sorry I’m such  a mess, but I don’t have anything else to offer.”

“I’ll take the mess,” Eönwë nods gladly, smiling.

“Oh, by the way, about that…” Mairon shifts smoothly, now towering over him.

“What,  _ again _ ? Goodness, Mairon…”

“Yes, what, you’re tired?”

“Shut up...”

**Author's Note:**

> Vance Joy - Your Mess is Mine  
> Young the Giant - Cough Syrup


End file.
